The World is Black and White
by ThatDetectiveGuy
Summary: 4 years since the Event, Shinichi is living in a detective agency in Los Angeles, recovering from heartbreak through shots of Whiskey and wisecracks, while time moves forwards for everyone. A visiting Heiji consults him on a case of murder and conspiracy, but as he goes deeper into the investigation, will he finally be consumed by his own growing darkness?
1. Prologue - A Gift

Prologue:

2 years, 5 months, 4 days.

For Shinichi Kudo, one of Japan's ace detectives, it is the time length of being shrunk down to a seven year old body, taking in the persona Conan Edogawa, living with his true love Ran Mouri, her drunken PI father Kogoro Mouri, solving crimes from the shadows; meeting reliable allies - Heiji Hattori, the Detective Boys, Shiho Miyano aka Ai Haibara, Sera Masumi, FBI agents Jodie Starling and Shuichi Akai aka "Subaru Okiya", even Vermouth, one of the members of the Black Organization's Inner Circle. When May 4, 2016 came around, he would brush it off as a birthday he couldn't celebrate, at least not in person - Haibara was running out of supplies to create the APTX-4869 antidote on that day, leaving only a couple capsules left for emergencies only. Hakase was out running errands when the news came in, leaving Ai alone, finishing up research while enjoying a cup of tea. The doorbell rang a repetitious ring, starling the young chemist for a second before relaxing her guard down. She thought it was Genta, Mitsuhiko, and Ayumi, or it could be Hakase coming back early. But on this day, it was Subaru Okiya.

"Okiya-kun? What brings you here?" She gave a puzzled look at the disguised FBI agent.

"Oh, Haibara-chan, is Conan-kun home? I have something to tell him?" The smile on his face seemed forced, yet genuine.

"Conan-kun is at Mouri-kun's. Why?"

"May I come in?" Haibara obliged. For all the time she has been hiding out with Conan and Professor Agasa, she felt freer than before, not having to worry about the Black Organization. Not that she still feared them, but she has gained the will to fight, a feeling akin to what her sister might have felt when she was risking her life for the only family she had left.

The sun was coming down, leaving the mass living room left in a warm glow. Okiya placed himself on the maroon couch, reaching for the switch to hidden voice changer. Haibara noticed this, deducing that whatever Akai had to say to Conan, it was urgent.

Akai already knew that the little girl coming up to her was none other than Akemi's little sister, and with that notion, to keep his late lover's promise, he would protect Shiho at any cost. And Haibara knew the same about him, too. With that, they have shared a brother-sister relationship for quite some time, even since they confronted each other on the truth at the beginning of the year.

"Akai-kun, what's going on?" Her tone was sharp, her mind focused on what seems to be a new case with the Organization.

"Shino-chan,"Akai replied in his regular voice. "I've got good news and bad news. Can I have some of your tea, first?"

"Let's start with the bad news, then. And sure."

A couple of minutes have passed since Haibara served them both some hot green tea. Having tea to end off the day is nothing but intense peaceful bliss.

Akai broke the silence. "Bad news is Kir is dead." The sound of it froze Haibara on the spot, knowing that they now lost another dear friend because of the men in black. "Her cover was compromised. They captured her, but before she could talk, she committed suicide."

At first, Haibara shivered at the thought of Gin torturing the CIA mole, but any fate other than the latter was comforting.

"And the good news," she said, sipping her drinking silently, somber for the recent loss.

Akai took out his smartphone, logging on to his email, showing a file. "Kir sent this before she got compromised. I think you'll find the information interesting." He sent the file to Haibara's cell phone. When she looked it up, it brought a shock to her.

"But how?"

"My guess is as good as mine. But she got it." Akai finished up the tea from the small porcelain cup. "And there's another thing."

Conan was lounging at home, reading _The Black Echo_ by Michael Connelly. He wondered why he hasn't read this before. He's a Holmes fan, of course, so reading hardboiled police procedurals was a first for him. Kogoro was his normal self, ogling Yoko Okino on television while drinking can after can of beer. Ran was cooking up some spicy curry, smiling happily as she looks upon Conan. Life was good for them.

"Enjoying that book Shinichi recommend to you, Conan-kun?" Conan looked up from his novel to relish the smiling face of his love.

"Yep! Ran-neechan, you got to read this some day! It's so gritty like those black and white films Shinichi-kun would show me when we hang out."

 _Geez,_ Conan thought, _now this is really pushing out of my character. Reading this book would raise flags to anyone._

Conan's phone rang from his pocket. He checked the caller ID and it was Haibara.

"Hey, Haibara-san."

"Kudo-kun, you need to come by Hakase. It's the Organization."

His mind shifted to overdrive. It always does when they're mentioned, all hands on deck.

"Ran-neechan, Haibara wants a sleepover! Can I go?" His childish façade was as misleading as it is innocent.

Ran was a bit dishearten, the idea of her little brother going off somewhere, like he does when there's always a case. At times, she wondered whether Conan was Shinichi's protégé or his brother. But in any case, she relented and allowed him to go off to Agasa's home.

The moon was full, shining everything in a ghostly paint, while the front lawn of Hakase's house was lit up in yellow, pale light. Conan came in around 10, arriving in filled with excited, yet caution. Haibara was coming from the basement, along with Hakase, holding only 2 batches of the APTX antidote.

"Haibara, what happened? What's going on?" Conan gazed at the antidote before noticing Okiya sitting on the couch, watching the local news. "A new recipe," he questioned, as he smirked at the idea.

It was to his surprise that Haibara immediately took one of the pills, and handed the last one to him. "Take this," she responded.

 _This must work,_ she thought. _The composition was perfect, but nothing is right until tested._

Conan looked at the capsule in his little kid hands, while Hakase gave his adopted daughter an assortment of adult clothes. "Don't tell me that it's done, that this dose is perfect?" In his mind, there was only energy, the feeling of finally getting his life back and going back head first as Shinchi Kudo, spearheading the charge against the Organization. Since it was the case at that point in time, he had no hesitation when he swallowed the pill.

"Here you go, Shinichi-kun," Agasa said, giving the boy detective his old high school clothes.

It didn't take long for the drug to kick in. It burned his insides, as if he ingested a bleach and lye cocktail, but the effects were quicker. It took him no longer than a few minutes before he grew back into his regular form. He came back into the large, open hall, all dressed up, having the elated sense of theatricality. In the back of his mind, Shinichi imagined that this is what Kaito feels like when he presents himself to the audience - police and bystander.

Okiya was on his phone. "Yes . . . tomorrow at 18:30 . . . . Be sure your guys are ready, Jodie . . . Ok . . . Goodnight." He hanged up and walked up to Shinchi. Shiho just came out, wearing her typical lab coat and brown turtleneck. "Oi, Kudo-kun."

"Akai? The organization is having a meeting somewhere?"

Akai nodded. "Yes." He filled in the news about Kir and her final email, containing details on the toxin and a small meeting with the Boss at Tokyo Tower.

"This is it, isn't it?" _About damn time_ , the detective thought. "Who's coming?"

"The Metro and the FBI will be in on this. It's all hands on deck for this one, " Shiho answered. "I would take this time for them to get ready. I still have to check the drug's effects and see if they'll last. But, I'm confident that I have everything I need."

In May 4, 2016, Kudo Shinichi has received a gift that he wants. An opening, a chance for justice and his old life back. But, just as any other birthdays, sometimes you get the gift you deserved, and the gift that you never ever want.


	2. The Darkness Enters

Gin was smoking up a storm in the lavish Victorian hotel room, while enjoying a shot of whiskey and basking in the view of the neon-colored Tokyo skyline at the dead of night. Even demons must have a taste for beauty, he thought.

Along one wall was a man, a smoking pipe at his lips, sitting on the blue velvet couch, typing away his orders to his colleagues. It read:

To all of my agents,

This is the last time I'll be talking to you again (unless you decide to visit me during my retirement, Chris, but we'll see.) For those you want to back out, please take action to do so. If you wish to see me off at my retirement party, well then, you are a true friend. Thank you all.

Your boss,

Absinthe

"And done," the man sighed greatly. He took one inhale from his pipe and blown it away in one, swift exhale, like a fire-breathing dragon. As he gazed at Gin, he smiled, relishing their close friendship for the last time. He walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Enjoying the view, boyo?"

"You can say that, sir."

The Boss grinned at the comment. "No need for formalities, Gin. Or should I say, Shinya?" He chucked.

Shinya downed his shot of Jack Daniels. "Ha, ok Harry-kun." He stood up to fetch another glass and a refill. "Vodka has already disposed of her body, to your specifications, and the message was sent out." The sound of alcohol sloshing in its brown bottle, coming out of the neck, pouring out, it's a sound that everyone can get behind.

"So," he continued, handing Harry his shot. "You invited your Yakuza partners?"

"Hey, I have very little friends in this job. Might as well get those bastards into the list."

They clanked drinks and drank. The whiskey burned their throats, the taste bitter and sharp, but it was good nonetheless. "You got the munitions in the car?"

"Yes sir," Shinya answered. The Boss smiled.

"Then you know what do to. All of my provisions for the future." He held his arm tightly. "You are my brother, no matter what. You always fall through with your plans. Your cunning, your skills, you'll be the next Napoleon of Crime if you keep this up."

The two men looked at the Tokyo skyline again. "Thanks, Harry." A pause filled the silence before Gin spoke up again. "How long did you know that detective was working?"

The Boss let out a jolly laugh. "Oh my dear Watson, you see, but you do not observe. You get that through your head, your life is set. But then again, I do have contacts in the NPA in every nook in Japan, not to mention in Scotland Yard. And I know that word of a supposedly dead high school detective solving petty murders gets around."

"The game is afoot, Shinya. And in this little game, black knight takes white queen."

"Eh? Aren't you gonna say goodbye to your friends?" Ran was smitten with somberness, knowing that Conan was going to stay with parents in America for a while.

"Gomen, Ran-neechan. My parents were at Agasa's, planning to surprise about our return back home. I wish you could come, Ran-neechan, but my parents insists that they'll keep it private. I'll try to talk to them, I promise. I'll always see you my big sister."

The somberness became heartfelt warmth, and for the last time, Conan Edogawa said goodbye to Ran Mouri.

She made a light, peaceful smile, as she prepared a nice dish of beef curry for her father and Shinichi, the latter coming up from the stairs leading up to the apartment. Ran stared back at him, smiling ever more, reminiscing of how his hair always reminded him of her little brother, and all of those moments whether the two were the same person.

"You ok, Ran? Did Conan say his goodbye to you," Shinichi said.

Snapping back into reality like a tape measure sliding back into place, she answered back, "Yeah. It's a shame that he didn't say goodbye to his friends. Friends that never say goodbye will always leave heartbreak."

"Nah, Conan-kun will be back, I'll know it," he replied with a bright grin.

 _Well, if Shino can reverse engineer the antidote so that I could shrink back again for a day, that'll be swell_ , Shinichi thought.

He straightened out his blue double-breasted jacket, where his phone and voice-modulating bowtie were, using it to make the fake phone call to Ran downstairs, while Kogoro sat at his spot on the table, holding a can of beer in one hand.

"Oi, oi," Kogoro said, "so, you'll be choosing out universities with Ran, once you're done with cram school."

"Hai," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "Those cases really cut into my studying. I'll be doing stakeouts instead of all-nighter catch up on homework."

"Bah, if that's the case, then you might as well ask Inspector Meguire a job on the police force. You already proven yourself to them that an education is a formality." He avoided his eyes, huffing with pride.

Ran came to the table with their dishes, piping hot and smelling savory, its scent filling the room. They ate up the delicious meal, making small talk on daily life, especially on what Shinichi had been up to during his hiatus from Tokyo. Ran listened to his "cases" - actually short stories Yusaku writes during his spare time in order to keep his writing and deductive skill limber - while Kogoro scoffed at them, drinking more of his beer and focusing his attention to the Japanese pop shows that were playing on TV. Once lunch was over, Ran took the plates and back to the kitchen. She was about to wash them by herself until Shinichi came along and helped her. She was glad that the Detective Freak was less of a cocky bastard, and more of a gentleman.

It was becoming late afternoon- the sunset glow flooding the offices of the Mouri Detective Agency - when Shinichi finished up with the dishes, while Ran fetched for some cola in the fridge. Kogoro was napping at his desk, the booze finally setting into his system. She opened the window viewing out the streets below, filled with ordinary people going about in their routines - hanging out with friends, parents giving piggyback rides, taxis dropping off and picking up couples heading to unknown destinations. Shinichi walked up to her. Ran gave him his share of Coke, and they drank in silence.

"Peaceful, isn't it Ran?"

"Yes it is," she responded. She gazed at him, admiring his attractive qualities. He was easy on the eyes, but his braveness and his wit made him all the more wanting. Shinichi thought the same about her at the same time - she's strong, yet innocent with a loving heart, not to mention having a good deductive skill at times. All of this made their hearts flutter, and they wonder what a peaceful life they might have.

But before long, they blushed from embarrassment, making the elegantly awesome moment awkward. Despite of their shyness towards their feelings for each other, it did not dissuade the truth that they are meant to be, and all it takes was one of them to take initiative.

"Hey Ran, maybe later, we could . . ." The detective paused, taking a break to gather up more courage.

"We could what?" She faced him, interested on what he has to say.

He looked down, but he soon summoned enough will to look at his love straight in the eyes, once again taking sight upon true beauty. "We could have dinner. Back at Beika Center." _I still remember last time we went there, there was a murder_ , he thought.

Ran's eyes widened from amazement and joy. "Really?"

"Yep. I just need to finish up one last case, but after that I'm taking a break." He stared at the busy streets.

"Why the sudden plan? Don't tell me that you got bored of it?" She pouted at him.

"Well, I know that I've been gone for awhile," he said, his voice honest and true, like a confession. "After all this time, I guess I let life slip by. There are more important things in this world besides detective work. Tropical Land, for instance. Besides, I owe you an apology."

"For what?"

"Well, it's about Conan. The truth about him."

Again, Ran was confused. "What about him."

Shinichi placed his hand over Ran's. "It's best if we talked about it when I finished this case."

Speak of the devil.

The buzzing of a cell phone defused the air around them. Shinichi grabbed his cell and checked the ID - it was Akai.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Shinichi." The voice was loud and clear, and its tone was attentive and strong. "We're preparing the raid on the Boss. I'm just wondering if you're going to be there."

"Yeah, I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it for the world." Shinichi grinned, feeling the thrill of the chase. He said his goodbye to Akai and looked at Rachel.

"That was one of my colleagues. Looks like we're finishing that case tonight." He smirked, feeling energized like any other case, only this one is the big case. The one where he'll be remembered as the greatest detective of this generation.

He finished up his cola and started to leave. Before he left the detective agency, he craned his head to Ran. "So, you cool with our date?"

What passed for a second was an eternity in Ran's mind, but love conquers all in the end. At least, to her belief, anyways.

"Sure." She smiled at him and gave Shinichi a light kiss on the cheek. "You go get him, meitantei-san."

.

Orange lights lighted up Toyko Tower, and the streets were filled with bystanders and stoplights letting cars pass through the clean roads. Inspector Meguire, Shinichi, Akai, and the rest of the police force were overlooking this pleasant view from the third-story window of an apartment complex. The room they were in was spacious, fitted with two wide compact tables together. The windows had dusty blinds that weren't cleaned since god knows when, and radio equipment and blinking computers covered one side, while Kevlar vests and AR-15 were stacked upon the opposite wall.

"Chiba, any signs of activity?" Meguire, with his usual brown trilby hat and trench coat, talked through the handheld radio.

"Nothing, sir." Fuzzy static filled short intervals during the conversation. "We don't see any suspects around this time."

"Alright, be on the lookout," Meguire replied before he cut Chiba off. He looked towards Kudo and Akai, wiping his eyes. "It's almost 8:30. Are you sure this information's credible?"

"It is. I already filled you in on the details this morning, Inspector," Akai said confidently.

"And just so you know, if this was just a blind, Public Security will be busting us, and Japan has to deal with diplomacy crap when they find out that you," pointing at the FBI agent, "have been investigating here illegally."

He agreed that their asses are on the line, but the point of risk is to get something greater. It's a gamble, but it's a gamble worth taking.

"And when is the wedding date?" A familiar, feminine, American-sounding voice resonated through the halls. Jodie Starling came into the command center with Detectives Takagi and Sato, the dark-haired lover rubbing his head in awkwardness.

"Hey, we still have to plan! I just proposed to her weeks ago," Takagi stuttered. Sato loves it when her fiancé is like that. It's all about those idiosyncrasies that makes us love a gal, a movie once quoted. Shinichi beamed, reminding of himself of his moment with Ran earlier that afternoon, a possibility that seems possible to achieve as if he could grab it.

"Just kidding," Jodie chuckled. "Work comes first, and then you'll deal with love." She then turned to Akai, her demeanor shifting from casual to serious. "Anything?"

Akai shook his head. "Nothing, just of yet. We're still on watch."

"Alright." Jodie looked over Akai's shoulders and saw Shinichi. "So, cool guy . . ." She smirked at the now grown Conan.

"Jodie-sensei," he replied.

She took the response as a compliment and a wisecrack. "Still after all this time, I'm your sensei?"

"Yep."

Meguire's radio cracked into life, the voice sounding urgent than before. "Sir, we got someone on our radar."

The police inspector took up the call. "Is it those men?"

"No, sir. It's the Yakuza."

 _The Yakuza? Why are they here? Are they meeting up with the Organization?_ Shinichi rummaged through his thoughts, trying to find the reason why.

Meguire inquired more on the new suspects. Chiba told him that the leader was Akito Masaoka, a beefy man with enough strength to break a man's face in one punch, and enough brains to end gang wars with assassin-like proficiency. He and his gang were wearing white three-piece suits and sunglasses, and they were heading inside the tower. Once the conversation was finished, Meguire whistled to the group, gave them the skinny, and started to arm up. Everyone fitted their bulletproof vests and armed themselves with standard-issue Berettas and .38 Special revolvers, except Shinichi. He was fitted with Agasa's soccer belt and stun gun watch.

While the police were storming the tower, Akito Masaoka met with the Boss inside the Tower's cafe around the observational desk. He was sitting at one of the many tables and booths, sipping on a piping hot cup of coffee. He hollered at his guest. "Hey, Akito!"

Akito ordered his men to get a few tables around them, taking possible defensive positions. Akito sat down, and the Boss offered him the cafe's menu, listed with entrees - sandwiches, ramen, takoyaki. "Want something to eat," the Boss said happily, "go get it. It's all on me."

Akito thanked him and ordered a BLT, but his mind was on his meeting, or specifically, why in a place like this? Usually, any meeting with the Black Organization takes place in private and secluded areas - back alleys and rented rooms. But this was open, lots of vantage points.

And lots of innocent people.

"Ok, Harry. What's going on," Akito asked.

"You brought your guys here?" He pointed to the white suits. "Well, the more the merrier?" His smile grew crooked, demented, devious. "Well, my friend here's the deal."

He gulped half of his cup, saying a long, loud _Ahhhh_. "Akito, I'm retiring. And I'm going out with a bang. Welcome to my retirement party." He spread his arms out to the world around them.

"Some party," Akiko remarked with a deadpan tone. "Where are the balloons and clowns?"

"Why my friend, you answered your question." Absinthe pointed at him. "And the rest of the clowns would be here soon. Hey they could be here now? They were staking out my meeting today, and they'll be here in full force."

"What?" Akiko huffed in rage. Bloodshot eyes gazed at the mastermind. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Just then, the observational desk was swarmed with Meguire's men, guns ready. Sato and Takagi were in charge of getting the tourists out, while everyone else - Jodie, Akai, Meguire and Shinichi - remained focused at their targets. The Yakuza guards stood up from their seats and drew out their weapons, before Akiko silenced them with a shout. "Hold your fire!" They obeyed master's commands. "Harry, you tell me you set this up for some deal? They caught you and you planted this sting?"

Shinichi can only stared in amazement at Harry. Before then, the detective pictured the Boss of the Black Organization as some rough, evil mafioso, a stereotypical British villain from a James Bond film. But expectations can clash with reality in such starling ways. Harry was just an ordinary looking teen. Sure, the fedora and black trench coat was a dead giveaway, for his allegiance, but the fact that this man, who was young as Shinichi, with green eyes and youthful complexion and thick jet black hair, was in charge of a global crime ring took everyone by surprise.

"Ah, Shinichi Kudo. The Savior of the Japanese Police Force! The Modern Sherlock Holmes?" He was waving his arms around, exaggerating every moniker, but the last one he gave was a punch to the gut. "Conan Edogawa!"

Shinichi's mind came to a halt, deer in headlights. _Wait, what? He knows about that!_

"I must admit," the Boss continued. He sipped more on his coffee. "I love to see that shocked look on you, it's a real kicker. I bet Moriarty would be pleased in this same situation, with Mr. Holmes."

"All right, enough," Meguire interrupted. "You're under arrest for-"

"I AM NOT FINISHED, INSPECTOR MEGUIRE!" The police inspector then shut up his lips.

"H-How did you know about _that?_ " Shinichi was still in awe about the revelation. "I have done my best to make sure that I kept my identity a secret. How did you-"

Harry frowned and shut his eyes half way, annoyed by this act of stupidity. "You really gonna ask me that? After you started to pop up around Japan after Gin supposedly fed you 4869? And that this Conan character was at times a great detective? And that this boy looked the great Shinichi Kudo? Not to mention that I know about the effects of APTX 4869."

 _If this guy knows so much about everything - Haibara, the spies, the poison_ , Shinichi thought, _then why didn't he come after us? D_

"What the fuck are you talking about, Harry?" Akiko was about to grip Harry by the collar, but Harry turned toward him, grabbed his arm and snapped his elbow with ease. The Yakuza shrieked in pain.

Elsewhere, Sato was finishing up her sweep of the desk, but she noticed a large, burly man, wearing a business suit, sunglasses, and a black fedora. Unknown to her, there were several other suspicious persons staying on the desk; among them a thin, silver-haired man with a cap, and a short-haired lady with a butterfly tattoo on one of her sharp eyes.

"Sir," Sato explained, "I need you to leave. This is a police raid." The man could only wait in silence. And yet, under his breath was a hearty and deceptive chuckle.

Harry explained some more. "You ever read Sun Tzu, Shinichi? You should give it a read. Makes you think more on how to win, how to make your enemies suffer. Oh did I mention that I also know about that dead CIA dame? Such a knockout, and a waste of good looks.

He clapped his hands and looks at his audience. "Bottom line, you've been such a pain on my side, and I think's time for retirement. Time for this era to end."

Sato was still trying to persuade Fedora Man to leave, and that only made his under-breath chuckle become louder. Out of police instinct, Sato raised her gun at him and reached for her handcuffs. "Hands up when I could see them!"

Shinichi can only connect the dots from what he heard. _Kir is dead. He wants us to suffer and we are now in the furnace._ The thought came seconds late before Harry shouted. "Boys! Let's jam!"

Vodka heard the command and he rushed towards Sato. He grabbed her gun, pulled her to the side and gave a powerful kick to the head. Takagi, realizing what was happening, aim his sidearm toward him, but he was too slow. Vodka pulled out a Remington shotgun and plugged three shots at him. One missed, one grazed his shooting arm, one sent him flying backwards.

Korn and Chianti, taking advantage of the chaos, drew out MP7 submachine guns and fired upon the police, along with the other ambush men. Soon enough, some cops weren't so lucky, getting one in the head by stray shots. The Boss took out a PPK and Shinichi got his soccer ball ready.

 _A soccer ball, boyo? Isn't that too childish_. The Boss shot at the ball, the projectile exploding into smoke. He then took a potshot at Akiko and some of the Yazuka, while flipping a table over for cover. Akiko took a bullet to the gut, a red crimson leaking like a broken pipe

The whole tower was in chaos. Everyone - Yakuza, Black Organization, and cops - took turns getting shot at.

Chiba gets grazed by the head.

Akai managed to take down Korn before a bullet hits in the shoulder.

Meguire received a spinal tap of lead.

Jodie managed to kill Chianti, but not before the sniper sprayed and pray all over the group. One of those slugs managed to hit the unconscious Sato.

Shinichi was taking cover by the tables, trying to keep composure like Holmes, only Holmes didn't deal with cronies with automatics. Harry was also dodging fire, while firing back with an old-fashioned M1911. He could only cackle like a hyena. Madness has a way of showing itself in the works of a smart plan. Shinichi breathed in and out, trying to focus on the task at hand.

 _Be calm, be cool, be collected._ He holds his stun gun watch, took one deep breath, and stuck his head out, trying to find the Boss amidst the gunfire. He was nowhere in sight.

"Damni-" Before he could finish, the detective felt a sudden jab at his shoulder, then a burning sensation that followed something warm flowing from him. The exit wound was gushing out. Shinichi turned to see Vodka, wielding a .357 magnum - his Remington ran out of ammo during the fight - and holding a thin smile. "You know," he said, "I did wanted to put a bullet in your that night you snoop on our little Tropical Land meeting." He cocked the hammer of the hand cannon. "At least I get my wish in the end."

 _Shit! No!_ Shinichi tried to aim his watch at him, but the pain prevented him from doing so.

Vodka gleaned one final grin. "Goodbye, great detect-"

A pop sounded off. Vodka's throat began to burst out blood. He reaches for his wound and gasped sprays of red. He fell down and only said one word, while still looking at Shinichi. "Bullshit."

Jodie's gun was smoking from the killing shot. She looked at Shinichi, observing his wound. She ran towards him and handled his shoulder with care.

 _A through-and-through. The round made a huge hole, but it missed the vital arteries, or this wound would be squirting,_ Jodie thought.

Harry finished his final clip shooting at the celling, while behind his bullet-ridden cover, until the gun went _click, no more gun juice._ And then he sighed in great relief. "Boy, that was fun." He dusted off his pants and stood out, hands up. At that time, the fire had ceased, and the smell of gunpowder and iron whiffed through the atmosphere.

Jodie got out her cuffs, but instead of following procedure, she throws the Boss down to the floor. Hard. Facefirst. His nose began to bleed from broken bones and capillaries, but it didn't shut up his laughs. "Ha! That was fun!"

"Shut up, you fucking psychopath!" It looked like she was about to give him a curb stomp, but her mind came back in high gear, and before anyone knew it, she cuffed him. "Anyone hurt," she asked the survivors. Of course, she knew it was a lie. Who knows who died in that gunfight?

Chiba led the remaining officers to attend to the critically wounded. Akai placed pressure on his wound to slow the bleeding. Takagi and Sato laid in their spots.

Shinichi stared at the chaos. The red rivers creped along the linoleum floors, polka-dotted with bullet casings and debris. He checked the gang attending to Meguire, Sato, and Takagi. Chiba yelled into his handheld radio, shouting for ambulances. Fear was in his eyes, as every second meant every ounce of life could be leaving the gravely wounded cops.

"Hehe, that was so much fun," Harry murmured while Jodie held him by the collar. "I love it when a plan comes together."

"Your plan, meaning bringing this massacre!" Jodie had enough of this Joker wannabe bullshit.

"And then some," he replied. A crooked bloody grin formed again. "It's a shame that I sent my silver-haired companion on an errand during my party."

 _Silver-haired?_ Shinichi turned to the crime boss, rushing at him. "What do you mean, huh! Where's Gin?!"

More mocking cackles. "I said an errand. I asked him to send a little invitation to some gal." He gives the detective the address, a familiar address, one that sent his mind into high gear out of fear and horror. An address to the Sleeping Kogoro's agency.

He didn't have time to tend to his wound. _It could wait,_ he thought. _She's in danger. I need to get to her now!_

He managed to convince Jodie to accompany him to the Mouri Detective Agency. At first Jodie thought that she would be the one driving, but when her keys were snatched from her hands, she knew Shinichi was desperate.

The drive towards the agency was as hectic and fast-paced, full of closed calls with incoming traffic and jaywalking people. But it didn't mattered to him. His dream was in his grasp, so close that he would do whatever it takes to achieve it. The fear of losing someone is one of the perks of love.

The agency's lights were still on - the overhead office was shining out light, but it doesn't mean all is well. Shinichi swerved to the curb, not minding the sudden bump that through the both of them towards the dash, and got out of the car. The shoulder wound continued to ache and ooze out more gore red, but the kid didn't give a damn. Fear took control, not composure. He had a sort of close calls with Ran over the years, but this one was close to home. The pain that shot up his spine every time he took one step up to the office was numb. It was in the case when he kicked open the door.

Ran was sitting up on the couch, reading a magazine. It took her by surprise when Shinichi ran in with blood running down his suit. "Shinichi," she cried out. "What happened? That wound! Are you okay?"

"Ran!" He rushed into the office, still on his guard. "Are you fine?" His crazed eyes searched around the room. Kogoro was looking at him, fuming with rage due to the kid's antics, but when he saw his injuries, his cop mind took over. "Oi, Shinichi!" He ran towards him, trying to calm him down, though the kid won't let it.

"You guys need to leave! You guys are in danger!"

Ran was confused and scared, but when the word danger comes to mind, she knows it's no joke. "Alright. Where do we-"

A bang ran through the streets of Tokyo. Glass shattered in the office. Ran looked at Shinichi, frozen from something. Shinichi looked at the pouring red flowing down here dress.

Time slowed again, leaving the scene distorted and quiet. He didn't hear the second shot that popped into Ran's chest. Kogoro yelled while he ran towards her. A third silence round winged Kogoro by the arm, and a fourth one shot through Ran's right arm. Shinichi didn't have a voice, and yet his mouth was open, trying to find words to describe this nightmare. He didn't noticed the final shot - a shot from an RPG-7 rocket launcher - has entered the room.

Mouri Detective Agency exploded, sending cinders, glass, and brick down to the streets. It was a smoldering pile of twisted metal and broken dreams.

* * *

Hey guys, so this took me a while. I was a bit procrastinating on some parts, and I have summer classes to take care off. Of course, the real show-stopper for this chapter for me is to manage how it should goes. Anyway, I hope you guys like this bloody long chapter. Please leave some reviews and such if you guys want. Let's see how this will start off the next chapter. The best is yet to come.


	3. As Time Goes By

Long Beach, CA - April 2016 - Present Day

The April showers, by God's miracle, pour down upon the lawns of a quaint, suburban house in Long Beach, California. Sure, the country did have some showers to help resolve the state's drought problems, but April showers are still unexpected blessings in this sunny part of the world.

Within the house, James Hartwell is drunk, stupid, and angry. A brutish ape, with a round face and thinning hair. Right now, he's throwing up all kinds of family mementos - photographs, lamps, and tables. Not that he ever cared for the stuff. Prior to this, he's banging this redhead named Valorie Mathis, and he loves to stay in control. So when Mrs. Redhead decided to call up James at her house to end the affair tonight, the ape wouldn't have it.

"James, stop it! I'll call the police, goddamn it!" Her screams are strained from crying out of fear, and those words fall on dear and drunk ears of a maniac.

"You don't get it, bitch! I'm in charge of this show! And I'll say when you'll leave! You got that!"

Valorie throws a glass ashtray at his face, hitting dead center at the bridge of his nose. He yelps in pain, but it only pisses him off more. "You cunt! Get back here!" He rushes towards her.

Outside the lawn, on the other side of the asphalt street, a young man in his early 20s is observing the chaos while taking a swig from a small convenience-store liquor bottle. It was Jack Daniels.

 _Dutch courage_ , the private eye thought.

The rains come down in torrents, yet the man's fedora stayed strong, keeping his black hair dry as a whistle. The effects of the whiskey makes his mind wonder, yet his mind is still sharp.

Well, just a tad sharp.

He crosses the lawn and knocks on the wooden door. He should have thought about getting the doorbell, to avoid any suspicion, but when did he ever take the safe and smart route?

The answer: never.

James hears the knock on the door, thinking it's the cops. He wonders how the hell did the dame called the cops here so fast? After all, she didn't seem to make any calls during the time.

He claps his hand over her mouth forcefully and makes a slurred shush. Valorie smells the liquor breath and revolts at it, making her gag. The drunkard stumbles his way towards the door, combs his hair, and opens it by a bit. Instead of finding a man in uniform, he sees a Japanese man, wearing a worn-out trench coat, blue tie, and brown fedora. Relaxing, James gives his best "fuck-off" face and asks, "What do you want, pal?"

"Help!" Valorie cries out, at the top of her lungs.

"Bitch, I thought I told you to SHUT THE-" Before he could finish his sentence, the guest kicks the door, knocking the abuser down to the ground. Dazed, James stumbles up from his fall, and fueled by rage, he charges at him. "You fucker," he slurs out, but he has a hard time maintaining balance, which helps the detective give him a good knee. He follows up with two uppercuts to the chin before one punch knocks him out cold, sending him barreling towards a drawer, crashing against old couple photos. James falls down for the last time tonight. The detective checks his pulse and his breathing - all alright.

He sighs and looks towards Valorie, trembling but relieved that help has come. "Thank you," she says kindly and timidly. She walks towards him slowly and stares at the sprawled - out man. "Is he gonna be alright," she asks.

"Yeah," he replies back. "I checked on him and he's alive. He's gonna have one hell of a hangover when he wakes up." The man snickers for a second. "Are you alright, Valorie?"

"Yes, thank you. Wait, how did you know my name?" She looks at him, puzzled.

He takes out his wallet out of his coat pocket. "I've been sent here by your husband to keep an eye on you." He flashes his credentials. "My name is Shinichi Kudo. I'm a private detective."

Tokyo, Japan

Heiji Hattori stares at the early morning sky, the skies filling up with airliners from Haneda Airport. The planes leave behind faint contrails as they fly out to some unknown destination. He's been consulting with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department for two years. After all, with Kudo out of the country, ace detectives are in short supply, and Heiji was out doing overtime, from Osaka to Tokyo.

"Oi, Heiji-san," Detective Chiba calls out to him. "Inspector Takagi says we're going to check the victim's room."

"Okay," he yells back. Heiji takes one more glance at the sky before leaving off to the hotel.

The Metropolitan Police were called in for a suicide case at the Royal Park Hotel around 4 in the morning. Everyone was either fast asleep or on graveyard shift at the time, so when a body comes crashing down through the glass roof of the lobby, then it gave those nearby a very rude awakening.

By the time Heiji was called in, the corpse was taken out of site by the coroner, while the authorities cut off the lobby atrium, specks of blood pinpricking the marble floor. The 20-something detective can only click his tongue and shake his head in disappointment.

The hotel staff was able to identify the man as Cole Marlowe when the police searched the hotel records. Besides checking into the hotel two days prior, not much is known about his whereabouts during his stay - he was a man that didn't divulge into his affairs to anyone, at least to the staff.

When the detectives enter Marlowe's room, the forensic team is already out of the seemingly neat hotel room up on the 6th floor. Inspector Tagaki is taking off his white gloves when Heiji and Chiba enter through the doorway. Tagaki is wearing a brown coat and black tie above a creamed shirt. As he throws his gloves away to a nearby bin, he fetches for his wedding band inside his pockets and returned it to its rightful place on his finger.

"Takagi-keibu," Heiji calls out. The inspector looks at him and smiles.

"Ah, Heiji-san," he says back and they shook hands. "Glad you could come. We're short on manpower this week, so . . . "

"Say no more, Takagi-san." Heiji then asks for the forensic findings.

Takagi gets out his pocketbook, listing all the known facts of the case. The hotel room was neat and clean, the beige bed looking slept in, and the suitcase with all of his belongings seeming intact. The place was dusted for prints, but analysis won't come for a few days.

"There's absolutely no evidence to be found here. No signs of a struggle. But, if this case is what is suppose to be, then-"

"No note," Heiji replies.

"Nothing. And I already asked the staff on his mental condition. Nothing to suggest that the man wanted to die, but then again, they're staff."

Heiji takes a lookover the scene. The CSI team processed everything, but the detective took his time being neat while searching for every conceivable detail. But so far, Takagi's words were true.

"Damn, I was hoping for something more interesting," he murmurs under his breath. Just then, a plainclothes officer comes inside the room, reporting to those present.

"Keibu, we finished our canvass on this floor. Most of the vacationers were sound asleep, but there were a few noise complaints."

Heiji focus his attention on the new lead. "They were complaining of banging against the walls here, so they called the lobby downstairs at around 3 o'clock."

Heiji asks, "Did the staff went up to check on it?'

"Yes, sir. One of the bellhops came over here to voice the complaint, but he heard a rough voice inside, telling him that he'll be quiet soon."

"Can you get any more details from him?"

The plainclothes shuffles his tie. "No, sir. He only told me that he heard the voice. He describes it as cold, rough, and calm for a person making a ruckus inside his room." He finishes off his statement, and then headed back down the hotel hall.

Heiji cups his chin with his fingers, trying to piece together what they have. "If what he said is true, then we're looking at a cover up for a murder here, but just a testimony from a bellhop about a suspicious voice isn't enough to warrant a lead." He then decides to check on the bathroom, but nothing much is found there - usual toiletries, shaving razors, tiny-sized soaps and shampoos. Takagi checks on his colleague.

"Anything, Heiji?" The 20-something detective shakes his head. Heiji goes out into the hall, trying to find anything of interest. What's there is a system of security cameras.

"Chiba, did you check the security footage here?"

"We didn't, but we can check." The shorthaired officer then goes off to do so.

At this time, the morning sun was flowing it all of its sunlight into the hotel. Heiji walks back in to talk with his findings, telling him that Chiba would check surveillance footage for evidence of foul play, and that it might take awhile to review. The inspector only expresses his contentment, though a part of him feels that this case would lead to dead ends.

Heiji steps outside of the balcony, trying to pass the time by staring out into the Tokyo sunrise.

 _Kazuha would love this. I might take her here in my spare time._ Heiji relishes in his thought, but this is cut short by a glimmer down below. He looks four floors down, seeing the lobby roof below the hotel balconies, littered with black little spotlights, off for daylight hours, and the pool nearby adjacent to the lobby, with little kids and loving parents beneath the waters. But those two are not the cause for the glimmer. It was an ant down there, lying on top of an A/C unit bordering the atrium, and yet it shines upwards, right in the detective's eyes.

 _What's that?_

Without hesitation, he goes off. He guesses that the roof is somewhere on the 2nd floor of the hotel, so he heads towards the elevator, taking Takagi with him. Once he arrives, he tells the inspector where to find the roof access on this floor.

"Down the hall." Takagi points to the direction of the stairwell. "There should be a door to your left." The flatfoots make their way there, rushing over in the midst of curiosity on Heiji's part. The growing heat radiating outside hits them as if they entered Death Valley when they reach the roof. They look around to get their bearings until Heiji spots the A/C unit. It didn't take him enough strength to get up on the unit, though the metal surface did burn his fingertips as he got on.

"Inspector," he says in a curious tone, "I guess this case just got better." A rush enters his brain, firing neurons of thrill through the fibrous works of his mind.

Next to his feet is a badge. It didn't have the star-like emblem of the Tokyo Met. It was gilded, with a city hall radiating waves of sunlight for its design, and the city seal of Los Angeles smack dab in the center.

It was an LAPD badge. Rank - Detective.

The Kudo residence remains standing, albeit it does have its share of old age - creaking doors and colorful paint now fading away in time. The detective library seldom gathers dust, thanks to a small, petite, strawberry-headed woman and an old man with a knack for gadgets. The owners of the fancy mansion are still away in America - somewhere in San Francisco, and now and then Shiho Miyano and Hiroshi Agasa let the Detective Boys - now just a club at Beika High - inside to study and read from the mystery collection, in order to sharpen their detective prowess.

Today, Shiho is just at home, washing up breakfast's dishes before she heads off to work, her job from cooking up drugs and poison to helping The Old Man and his Lawyer Wife with the detective business. Hakase, meanwhile, is working on more gadgets for the Detective Club, down in the basement. His plans include pen stun guns and taser rings - they're too old for voice-modulating bowties; they now have enough moxxy to talk about their deductions. And boy, did they learn from the best.

He looks at his watch and decides that his time down the stuffy confines of the workshop was over. He cracks his knuckles, wincing a little from a bit of pain, and he stretches his back, wincing a little more. Grabbing the cane next to the door leading up, Hakase walks back into the main hall, his eyes squinting from the sunlight.

"Taking a break, Hakase?" Shiho notices her father - guardian is the legal term, but father in reality - and grimaces at his recent limp. The old investor's doctor, Dr. Araide, gave him the news that he's getting arthritis, along with some pain meds to soothe the aches away. Hakase looks back at Shiho and smiles.

"Yes. With my old bones, I'm taking them often."

Shiho finishes up rinsing the foam of a glass, and places it by the dish rack near an open window. She comes towards him, trying to help him to a couch. He waves the help away. "I'm fine, Ai-chan."

"Slip of the tongue?" Shiho tries to tell him just to call her Shiho, but still, a wave of nostalgia goes through her. Good memories fills her eyes, back when Ai still existed with Conan and the Detective Boys.

Hakase chuckles at his habit, and there's no way that was going away anytime soon. Once they got to the couch, Hakase grabs a remote and flips the TV, turning over to the local channels. One program talks about the new concert by Yoko Okino, marking her ten-year anniversary in showbiz. Another talks about a recent death being investigated by the Tokyo Met near the airport. And the last one talks about more deaths coming from the U.S of A. Agasa turns up the volume.

" . . . new reports are coming in from California. The LAPD are now investigating multiple homicides near the Highland Park area. Detectives are suspecting that this case is related to the rise of organized crime in Los Angeles. Due to anti-immigration and gun control bills being passed . . ."

"In other words, organized crime is about to explode more than those stunts in Hong Kong movies," Shiho interrupts. She makes an annoyed face.

"I could see your sense of humor improved over the years."

"Cute, Hakase." She sits down by his side and straightens her blue blouse.

"Don't you have work, Ai-chan?"

"Kogoro and Eri are working up a case downtown. They'll be back around noontime, which gives me a little free time."

They relish in relaxation, soaking up every parental minute they had. Times like these calls for seconds of silence, peppered with warmth. If only they had one cowlick-haired detective to make the moment more palpable.

"Ever hear from Shinichi-kun," Shiho asks.

Hakase shakes his white head. "Nothing. Not a call, nor an email. Even Yusaku and Yukiko never hear from him. They even tried to track him down at his work, but," he says, tapping his temple, "I think Kudo-kun is smart enough to outsmart them."

More silence fills the air. "One of these days, we need to visit. It's almost the 5th," Hakase continues.

"Yeah." She sighs and placed a fist against her soft cheeks, waiting for awhile before she leaves off for the Mouri Detective Agency.

Piano chimes makes a peaceful melody throughout the safehouse. Sally Yeh sings out with soul and love. A well-deserved rest for the man tonight.

The man, a tall, tanned Chinese man, freshly shaven, with tired eyes and a dark trench coat, lies on a leather settee, listening to the sweet melody.

Dual M9s, unloaded, sit next to him, on a small coffee table. He sits there, dreaming for a peaceful night, but recent memories replay in his head.

He was in Highland Park, up on the Californian hills. The cold breeze swept through him, hitting his face. Even though it was in the dead of night, he wears his sunglasses. Not that he's a pushover douche, but he loves the way he looks when doing a hit.

Inside the hillside home, three men were drinking gin and watching pornos in the living room, the wide windows opening up to the glistening city of Los Angeles, with a wide open patio with neat, clean patio chairs and tables. They were too drunk to care when the Killer knocked on the door. When Drunk Goon 1 opened up, he slurred up a hello, his tone laced with the smell of whiskey. He was too drunk to notice the barrel pointed to his head. One shot ran out to the hills.

The two goons sobered up as quickly as they could, but they were too slow and smashed to make a good shot. Bang came after bang, red wounds pop up like springtime daisies as time slowed down for the Killer. They fell like dominoes, crashing down to the cold wooden floor. One of the goons even shattered a glass table holding shots of alcohol. The strong drinks were sprayed across the goon's dead face.

As the rush of adrenaline flows through his veins, the Killer was fast to notice his target - a Mexican, wearing a satin nightdress holding a pump-action shotgun in his hand. He shouted spanish profanities at him, but all that talk came out faster than his draw. The Killer took no hesitation to dive to his right, trying to anticipate where his bounty was going to aim, and he brings up his handguns and started to pull the triggers. Bang, bang, bang.

The cops would be swarming the trafficker's home any minute, but the Killer came prepared. Once he got up from his landing and dusted off his outfit, he shot out the windows, shattering broken glass on him - and the paving slope of the hill below the complex. He leapt with grace, tucked and rolled downhill, taking a firm hold on his weapons. He reached the bottom towards one of the neighborhood streets, wiped the dirt off of him, and headed down the sidewalk. Reaching for his coat pocket, he pulls out car keys and unlocked a nearby black Dodge Challenger. He drove away as the first responders made it to the house above.

The song is about to come to an end when the Killer came to. Gone was the memory, in comes the now. He peers to his side, glaring at his M9s. A wave of nausea goes through his system. Emptiness, boredom fills the corners of his skull.

A phone rings from his pockets. He reaches and answers the call with one swift swipe of his lean fingers.

"Boss." His voice is calm and professional.

"Heard about that hit up in Highland. All dead based from what I heard, press and police." The Boss draws a short silence, but within the conversation, he heard the rata-tat-tat of a keyboard. "Alright," he sighs. "The bounty's got wired to your account. Take it easy for tonight, Gin."

"Thanks, boss." He hangs up.

Between his in-person conversations with his white-haired boss, Gin - or better known as Mark Hei to his family, asked on why the Boss called him an alcoholic drink. The only answer he got out of him was this:

"More out of sentiment from my early career."

* * *

Note: It's been awhile since I updated this story. My procrastination skills has improved, and school has really got me stressed out these pass couple of weeks. I'll try to update as soon as possible. Please leave some reviews and share this out, if you like. And I've should have said this earlier, I don't own Detective Conan. That guy Aoyama does xP


	4. Just A Man in an Office

4 years ago, at Beika City Hospital

The world around Shinichi Kudo was a blank nothingness, a place where consciousness and emotion used to be. There was only emptiness, no sensation at all.

 _Where am I?_

Kudo was dumbfounded in this new environment in his mind. The void was overwhelming, and for a long time, Kudo felt fear.

 _What the hell is going on? Why can't I feel anything?!_

Outside his consciousness, a young detective, wrapped in bandages and nursing a broken leg, was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to morphine, and surrounded by a young strawberry-haired lady, a jolly middle-aged inventor, and an FBI agent. Shiho waited by the window, staring at the open streets, while Agasa and Akai were talking.

"How are Takagi and Sato doing?" Agasa pushed up his old, smudged glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Don't know. Sato is in critical condition. She's in the ICU right now, and Takagi . . . well, he got it good, but they managed to get the bullets out of him. He's clinging on, so . . . " Akai unconfidently shrugged his shoulders. Although they haven't knew until the raid, Akai felt some sympathy in all of it.

Meanwhile, a few rooms down the sterile marble halls, Eri Kisaki was sleeping beside her husband, in stable condition. That's what she called him at that moment. Sure, they were like two dogs fighting over a piece of meat when they feisty, but this event brought them down to earth. They realized that in the end of the whole charade. The evidence is the lawyer's red eyes and tear streaks.

A raven-haired nurse looked at the sleeping girl. Out of respect, she went down the hall for a blanket. When she got back, she draped it over Eri.

 _Ok, Kudo. I think you need to wake up. Open your eyes._

It took some effort like trying to push a car in an empty highway on a hot day, but Kudo opened his eyes. At first, he squinted at the flooding light, but he adjusted and took a look at his surroundings.

 _A hospital?_

He looked at himself on the hospital bed, staring at the IV bags feeding him painkillers, hearing the steady beep of the EKG monitor.

 _How the hell did I-_

He remembered.

 _No, no, no!_

His heartbeat spiked, causing the EKG to beep rapidly. The visiting trio took notice; Agasa called for anyone - doctor or nurse, while Shiho held her delicate fingers over his wrist.

"Oi, Shinichi, you're fine alright," Akai said. His calming tone wasn't working though.

Shinichi tried to speak out, but his voice wasn't working right. It strained and sounded as a whimpered cry of a crying child. It concerned Shiho. She knew that the loss would break him.

"Stand back, I'll help." The raven-haired nurse came in and increased the dosage of the morphine. A bit of this stuff relaxed Kudo's nerves, but not his mind.

"Is he gonna be okay," Agasa asked.

"He'll be fine, but I'll go get a doctor." Once the nurse finished up on checking on the equipment, she left the room. Along with Shiho.

"Oi, Haibara, where are you going," Hakase said, but the words hit nothing.

Shiho walked fast to her, feeling _that old familiar feeling._ The nurse was about to get a doctor, but Shiho grabbed her arm to the side and dragged her to a quiet place with no one to hear.

She wasn't playing nice with bullshit. She was done playing the cool girl with the blank, robotic face. Sure, her intuition could be wrong, but after all this time, she's not taking chances. She shoved the nurse against the wall.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you, Vermouth?"

Vermouth smirked and said casually, "That was fast. You've developed a sixth sense, haven't you Shi-" She was interrupted by the sound of knuckles hitting wall.

"I ain't got time for your sarcasm."

The shift in mood prompted Vermouth to get serious and heartfelt. For a moment, she was grounded. "Let me explain, alright." She held her hands up slowly. Shiho gained some sense to hear her out.

"The reason why I'm here is the reason why I'm not among the dead and arrested. I wasn't planning to die anytime soon by the hands of a boisterous teen.

"Look, I'm here because of what happened to _him._ I didn't want to die, but I didn't expect that Angel would get it." She sobered up, remembering the young high school girl, undeserving of such a fate.

 _Gin, you motherfucking bastard_ , Vermouth thought.

"Oh, so that's it, isn't," Shiho called out. "You grew a conscience. You, of all the members?"

"Shiho, please. I cared for Angel. Hell, I even warned her to stay out of this kind of life once." Sharon Vineyard felt agony. Hollowness caused by something she could have done, but didn't do because she didn't know everything.

She placed a young hand on Shiho's shoulder and dropped the other to her hip. "I even care for Shinichi too. Those two saved my life years ago. You have to believe me."

Shiho wanted to believe her. What she said made sense. She remembered Vermouth's attempt at her life. And how Ran sheltered her from the bullets. She wanted to trust this new side.

Vermouth cocked the hammer of a Walter PPK, pointed at Shiho's stomach. The cock was notable; Shiho saw the piece aimed at her, while Sharon pushed her away.

"What are you-"

"Please." She stared right at her blue eyes. "I-I'm sorry." The actress ran off down the hall into the unknown, filled with empty gurneys and men in white coats.

Shiho wondered what set her off. Was it for her sake, for safety? Or was it some more personal. She thought the latter; first her sister, and now the very few people she cared about are dead or wounded.

When she came back to Shinichi's room, she pulled Akai to a corner. "Shuichi-san, I caught Vermouth earlier. She was that nurse."

"What? Then-"

She placed her palm on his chest. "Don't bother. She fled in the end and she's armed."

"Still worth a check," he said. The agent went out to the hall and took out his phone to get some colleagues on a manhunt. But knowing Vermouth, Shiho thought, she could get by easily. And maybe for good.

"Oi, Haibara, I think Shinichi's starting to calm," Agasa said. They looked at the detective. Shinichi was starting to stare at his friends. It was a kind of stare that could pierce hearts and souls because he demanded answers. He struggled, but he gathered enough energy for a conversation.

"Agasa, . . . Shiho," he croaked in a tired, clear voice. "Let me out. Just . . . where is she?"

They stood silent, not wanting to answer.

"Where? Where? Where!?" Shinichi could feel tears in his eyes. It started to blurt his sight.

"Where?" He started to break down.

Shiho placed her hand on his wrist. She was gentle. She wanted to care and she wanted to mourn too.

"I'm sorry, Shinichi. Ran's gone," she finally uttered.

A dark pit had formed under Shinichi Kudo. He fell down. He fell hard. He could tell because his tears felt cold and his ears caught no sound from Shiho and Agasa. He only saw their figures against a black void, their mouths moving. He could only cry a hollow cry.

The world became black and white.

The sound of bustling morning traffic fills the small apartment of Shinichi Kudo. The sun shines through the curtained windows, leaving behind curvy triangles of light.

He didn't dress up in pajamas once he got back home, after he called up the cops to take Mr. Hartwell away for assault. The sad fat bastard was still passed out from Shinichi's punches when the LAPD patrol officers took him to the next nearby station. Valorie was comforted by her husband. He wasn't pleased with the truth, but wasting time brooding over it wasn't the best plan. She was still a flower worth protecting.

Shinichi told his client to come to his office for his fee after a day or two, waiting for things to calm down. Once each of them presented their statements, as part of police procedure, the private eye drove back home. One of them lied in their statement, because that one person took a short drink before taking action, and he couldn't leave his car at another client's neighborhood again. A waste of time and a nuisance to deal with, Shinichi said once to himself.

The sounding traffic stirs Kudo out of his bed. His head throbs and his breath smells like vomit at the back end of a bar bathroom. He rubs his temple and shields his eyes from the glare. Nearby, a semi honks its horn to some guy driving a Ferrari switching lanes and making close calls.

 _Idiots,_ Shinichi thinks. _Well, time to get up._

Every cell in his brain aches, but he eventually gets up and stretches his arms and legs. He walks over to the mirror in the adjacent mirror and splashes his face with ice-cold water. He sees his reflection. Cow-licked hair, as always, though greasier these days. His blue eyes looks more blood-shot, and bags hug underneath them. His white-collar shirt is wrinkled, and his shoulder holster is still on and the knot of his dark blue tie is left undone.

The 24-year-old detective gets his teeth done, finishing it off with a slug of Listerine to purge out whiskey breath. He then takes a shower and gets dressed in a black suit and tie. Out in his decent living room, the bookshelves containing his favorite detective stories gather their usual dose of dust. Even now and then when Shinichi cleans up the apartment, dust remain between creases within their pages. His brown trench coat lays over the couch, and half-filled, half-empty glasses stays on top of a glass coffee table. Shinichi picks them up and heads towards the kitchen sink, giving them a good rinse before cooking up a decent dish bacon and eggs, with a side of OJ and aspirin.

While he's eating, he turns on the TV. KTLA Channel 5 springs up at the first instance. The morning news covers the recent killings at Highland Park, its connection to the rising gang violence, and the LAPD investigation into the matter.

 _Nothing has changed with them. They'll find nothing_. Although as cynic as it sounds, it rings nonetheless true. For two years, the local cops and even the FBI have been trying to track down the gang in charge of narcotics and gunrunning in Southern California. What they've found instead were dead witnesses, cops, and do-gooding prosecutors.

Shinichi thinks about Akai. He's been a rising star in the Organized Crime Division of the FBI, along with Jodie and Camel. They received commendations and promotions after the Event, Jodie being Assistant Director and Akai and Camel being supervisors in Los Angeles. The detective wonders if they should give them a call, asking if they needed consultation, but he gives the thought up.

 _Those days are long gone._

Once he gets outside, he breathes in deep, taking in the musk of the city as a whole. The scent of gasoline mixes with the perfumes of wet concrete and faint tobacco. The city streets are as busy like any other day. There is a stray dog digging through some trash; bums hollering waiting cars for change; the sound of a jet engine roaring through the partly gloomy skies.

Shinichi's car is parked in the lot next to the complex. Most of the apartment tenants had left for work, so only a few remained, speckled with raindrops. He gets to his car and drives off to his office near Downtown, taking the 605 freeway.

Of course, the morning traffic jams up the roads, and Shinichi decides to pass the time with listening to news from SiriusXM radio. Nothing in particular stands out to him; it was the usual political talk and more of the Republicans and Democrats fighting it out at Capitol Hill, the daily Wall Street buzz on the opening price of stocks, celebrity gossip, the same social issues being pandered out because there were hot topics, and the latest New York Times bestseller reviews. All of these topics could make any man die out of boredom, so Shinichi switches channels to the rock and jazz stations. His favorites are Classic Vinyl, the 70s station, and 40s Junction.

His office is up on the sixth floor of a brick-house complex, off to the northeast corner. Most of the spaces are used by advertising and talent agencies. All the other spots were empty rooms gathering dust bunnies, with the janitors giving less of a care than a bartender cutting off wasted idiots. Shinichi parks off in the building's garage and heads up the elevator to his agency. His clean shoes tap through the halls until he reaches a half glass door, with the words _Shinichi Kudo, Private and Criminal Investigations_ , popping out in black paint.

He unlocks the door and heads in. Letters are on his desk - bills, payments from clients, and pleas from new ones. Swivel chairs are at both sides of the desk, and some file cabinets stand in one corner. At another side of the room is a mini fridge with clean shot glasses. The detective pulls up the window frame to air out the place. It gives a good view of the LA River, the 6th Street Bridge, and the tall buildings of Los Angeles, sitting in a mist of brown smog.

Shinichi sits on his little chair and looks at his desk. Aside from the letters, there is a picture frame containing a picture. The glass looks stained from dried tears. The picture is a shot of a girl with gravity defying hair, wearing the Teitan female school uniform, along with a man with cow-licked hair. Well, not a man, per se, but a shell of one. The shell looked happy, along with the girl; he draped his arm over her shoulders and made bunny years. The sun was out shining, the air looked clean, and the smiles were genuine. Shinichi thinks about the girl. Her looks, her heart, and her love for _him_. He thinks about all the times he'd spent with her, their intimate moments, their pervy moments, their confessions in the London case.

His left fist begins to grip in and out, fist to palm, fist to palm. His breath shudders; starts to hiccup, and his eyes are closed.

 _Ran._

 _You stupid bastard. Why did you drag her into it? Why didn't you protect her? Why did you lie? Why didn't you stop?_ _Why, goddamn it?_

He sighed and grits his teeth. He opens a drawer and got out an ashtray, a bottle of whiskey, and glass. He makes a shot and down it. He lights up a cigarette - he's been smoking in moderation for quite a time. He fills his healthy lungs with smoke before exhaling it out.

Shinichi stares at the picture.

 _Your birthday is coming up in a few days._

In one of the drawers is a lockbox. Inside it was one of Shinichi's guns, a Colt revolver .38 Special. Once in a while, he plays with it. Once in a while, he unloads and puts it against his head. Once in a while, he lets it click. It's a new habit he's picked up months ago. When the cases and the booze wasn't enough to numb the everlasting pain.


	5. Locked Rooms

Crossing Over the Wide Gap

Shiho had a quiet day. She ponders over today's routine while driving back home. The ride was comfortable enough to remember. The traffic is light, the hue of the streetlights flicker on and off as she passes by them, and the steady hum of the engine makes it possible.

In the morning, the Mouri Detective Agency was empty when she came to work. Kogoro and Eri weren't there, possibly because they were either collecting evidence or adding more intimacy to their relationship. First thing she did was to put her reports on Kogoro's desk. She was also working on the same case too - analyzing blood splatter patterns to prove the client's innocence in a case of first-degree murder. She doesn't worry much for Kogoro to mess this up. Sure he wasn't the great Sleeping Kogoro, but during the past years, he's been getting training from Eri, Shiho, and Heiji, and now he's making good deductions. Not perfect at times, but perfect enough to get the job done.

Only a few clients came into the agency. Mostly, they were missing person jobs and blackmail situations. Since Shiho only manages forensic support, she could only ask for their contact information, their summary of their cases, and their complete faith that the agency will get back to them if they find something fishy. All in all, a peaceful day without even one homicide.

The hours tick by while the sun sets down to the west, covering Tokyo in a lovely, tranquil warmth. To pass the time, she left the office for a quick coffee break down at Cafe Poirot. Rei Furuya doesn't work there anymore, after the stunt with the Black Organization. After providing enough valuable intelligence to the Public Security Bureau for months, and the eventual downfall of the criminal syndicate, he decided to retire from the job as an undercover agent. Last time Shiho heard of him, he moved to England, amusing himself with beekeeping, though from time to time, he'll get the odd job from certain agencies. Once she got back to the office, she turned on the TV and watched some of her favorite shows, along with the news and recent plays from the Tokyo Spirits.

Day turned into night, and it was time for the agency to close. She looks at a calendar near the office doorway. Black x-marks cut the days of the week until it ended around the 30th. In moments like these, when she looks at each check over yesterday, she thought of Shinichi.

 _It's getting close. I wonder how he's doing. Awful, I think._

She remembered last month that Shinichi has cut off his contacts with everyone else, even his own parents. Shiho guessed the reason why he might have done such a thing - Ran.

To him, she was his love. From all the way back to childhood, to be taken away by _him_ four years ago, he loved her with probably all of his heart. Now, she's buried in Beika Cemetery. Every anniversary, she and the rest of the gang would come by and put flowers on her grave. Later on, they would go off to someplace nice, like an arcade or a fancy restaurant, and remember the times with her, her laughs, her bravery, her preserved soul.

All, except the great detective Shinichi Kudo.

There was a time where Kudo was basically dragged off to Japan, two years ago. Yusaku and Yukiko got him a ticket to Tokyo all of a sudden. Playing the gentleman, he reluctantly gave in. His friends greeted him when he arrived at Tokyo - Sonoko and Makoto, Heiji and Kazuha, Takagi and Sato, Yusaku and Yukiko, Hakase and Shiho - putting on their best faces with their best efforts to bring a great detective back to life, good old reality.

"Oi, Kudo-kun!" Heiji got out his Osaka accent and sense of goodwill humor into the air.

"Welcome back, Detective Freak." Sonoko grinned at her friend.

"The Detective Boys missed you, Shinichi-kun." Hakase's jolly smile was at its fatherly best.

And all that Shinichi said was, "Thanks, guys. I'm glad to see you all." Everyone was pleased to hear those words. That's what he wanted. He wanted to conceal the fact that he didn't actually hear the loving encouragement from them, and he didn't want to hurt their feelings by giving them a half-hearted thank you.

When they got to the graveyard, the gang all had their flowers. Sonoko placed her by the tombstone, trying to hold back the waterworks, but failing in the end. Makoto held her by her arms, soothing her until her sobs become quiet hiccups. Heiji and Kazuha paid their respects to her, telling her about their recent dates. Kazuha told her one time Heiji won her a Kaito Kid doll during the Golden Week festival, and how they kissed passionately when the fireworks showered the night sky with sparkling colors.

Takagi helped Sato place her flower. He supported her, while passing her cane to Shiho. Sato was, and still is, a tough cookie, through and through. Even though she had trouble crouching down as her hip sent pain all over her system, she kept smiling.

Shinichi followed his parents to the grave. The moment was still. Dead silent. He looked at everyone, trying to be bright and happy for him. In his hands, he held a delicate rose. He looked down and studied it; it was fresh, colorful and the thorns are plucked off its stem.

"Go ahead, Shinichi-kun." Yukiko was part of the happy smiling faces of the crowd. He looked at her, her actress looks beaming with hope for a better future.

"Is it alright if I could be alone," Shinichi asked. "This is my moment, and so . . ." He didn't need to explain the rest to everyone, because they know. They left Shinichi alone and walked out of his sight, even though every step meant reluctance for the group. They worried about him breaking down at the grave, trying to come to terms with what happened - bury the hatchet and move on. They wanted that to occur, but he needed some support, and him sending them away was a cause for concern.

It only took a few minutes before Shinichi came around. Shiho looked at him, looking for tears and red eyes. But she saw nothing from his face. Instead, he looked cold, as if the world was still hard and freezing as urban concrete on a rainy night. Kazuha and Sato tried to talk to him, asking if he needed any water or something to help him get through a tough time he supposed to receive. Instead, he said nothing but, "Let's just go."

Later that night, everybody went to a nice, warm party in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in downtown Tokyo. It even had karaoke booths in the back, though the price wasn't cheap, considering there were only two booths for use. The group had some nice ramen and spent talking over things. Tagaki went on to talk about his upcoming promotion from Assistant Inspector to Inspector in the following months.

"How's Meguire," Heiji asked him.

Takagi drank a bit of Sapporo from his glass before continuing. "He's fine. Sato and I visited him at his house. We had a nice home-cooked meal and everything. Meguire even congratulated me on it."

Sato held onto his arms in a lovely-dovey manner. "I'm still proud of you, honey." She placed a kiss on his check.

Shiho looked at Shinichi, expecting a response. He was eating, he was drinking, and he looked liked he cared for the conversation. That was why she expected some cheers to the Metropolitan flatfoot.

"T-that's great, Takagi-san," Shinichi finally stated after a moment. "I'm confident that you'll do a fine job at it."

"Oh thanks, Shinichi-kun." They both shot smiles at each other. "Though, when I get stuck on a good locked-room murder, then I know who to call, right," he continued.

"Yeah, I'll be there." Shinichi's tone was loud, clear, and grateful, but he kept his glance at his food. For once, he was Haibara-cold.

"Ah. Should we expect the great detective of the east to come back to work," Kazuha interjected. "Hey, you guys want to do karaoke?"

The majority agreed. Well, it was called a majority because, one vote kept it unanimous.

Just as when the party started to head for the booth, Shinichi's phone rang. He had his hands in his pockets, so it was quick for him to see who was calling.

"Ah," he said, "guys, I have to take this call. Be with you in a minute?"

They gave him their approval and he went outside. Everyone but Yusaku and Shiho went into the booth, where Kazuha and Sonoko are debating which new J-pop sensation should they sing their hearts out while their boyfriends took the duty to endure it.

Shiho and Yusaku both knew what happened.

"Shiho-san, would you mind talking to him. Let me know if he does something brash." Yusaku gave her a reaffirming grin. For the both of them, they knew that they trusted about each other, because in their gut Shinichi was good at misdirection.

The Tokyo air was warm, bearable enough at the very least. A light breeze kicked up some dust, and car headlights gleamed upon Shiho's slender legs. She turned her head around to look for Shinichi, only to see him heading down the sidewalk, walking to a neon-signed bar. From his pockets, he drew out a cigarette and lit it up before he stood at the front of the pub.

When Shiho got up to him, she had one thing to say. "What the fuck was that, Kudo-kun?" Her stare was serious, and his was nonetheless careless, apathetic.

"What do you think? You wouldn't be here unless you know my trick."

She stared at his pockets. Two rectangular shapes bulged out - one of them a size of a smartphone, the other looking like a flip phone. She scoffed at the obvious observation. "You didn't get rid of it. You found it useful in the end to use Conan's phone to make excuses."

He took a long drag from his Camel cigarette, creating a thin line of ash before he tapped it off. "Bingo, Shiho-san. Hey, you could take my place as the next great Tokyo sleuth."

"Cut the sarcastic shit, Kudo-kun. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I'm fine. I just needed a smoke. That's all," he said, all the while shaking his head. His mouth twisted into a mean frown.

Shiho came up with a second deduction. "If needed to smoke, you could do it anywhere on this street. Why here," she questioned, pointing at the bar.

"Reasonable place to smoke, I guess."

A moment passed without any of the saying a word. "Shinichi," Shiho whispered. She sounded concern, so the detective took notice of the change of tone. "You're not . . you know, drinking, are you?"

He finished his cigarette and stomped out its cinders without looking at the strawberry blonde. "Well, guess I know who's my successor now." Before he continued, he got punched on the arm and taken by the shoulder.

"Seriously, Shinichi, what's wrong with you? Let me help you, goddamn it!"

"How about letting me go and giving me back the past before I took your _damn_ _pill._ I'm sure you could do one of those things. _"_ The venom froze Shiho in her place.

"How 'bout you go fuck yourself, tantei-san." She let him go and went back to the restaurant. Shinichi stared back at her. Within his mind, he felt a ping of regret before it was snuffed out with another cigarette.

The gang was planning to head for Tropical Land the next day. Shiho went by the Kudo house to check up on him. Yukiko opened up the front door, still in her pink nightgown, and was amazed by the sudden appearance of the slender scientist from next door.

"Yukiko-san, is Kudo-kun here?"

"Let me check." Yukiko called out to Shinichi, but there was no reply. She called out some more before she got void answers. She then called out to Yusaku, asking to check his room. "Come inside, Shiho-san."

When she got in, Yusaku met them, shaking his head in silence. "Yusaku, what's wrong," Yukiko inquired.

He took out a handwritten note. It said:

 _Sorry, guys. Business back at Los Angeles. LAPD needed assistance. Maybe next time._

Shiho turned her thoughts, connecting last night to the note, like 2 + 2 = 4.

 _Let us help you, Shinichi-kun. Let me help you._

That last memory - the note Yusaku held to her and Yukiko - is the last thing that flashes in Shiho's mind, when she gets home, glancing at the empty Kudo house.

"Shinichi," she tells herself before locking her car and walking towards the front door. The moon rises above her, the yellow lights from inside her home casting out on the lawn. It was at this time when her phone rings to life. She checks the caller ID. It's Heiji.

"Heiji-san?"

"Oi, Shiho-san," he said in his plain Osakan accent. "Want to visit Kudo-kun?"

Earlier that day, around the same time when Shiho got to the office, Detective Chiba went over the details of the Marlowe affair to Takagi and Heiji in the inspector's room.

"I just got the preliminary report on our victim. It took some finessing, but he got it done." Chiba takes out a file, while Heiji and Takagi sit and listen in. "Most of the injuries were caused by the fall," he says. "They were consistent with this type of case."

"The key word is 'most'," Heiji interrupts.

"Exactly. He found out that those injuries were post-mortem, and there was brain hemorrhaging when he died." He flips over another page of the coroner's report. "Also, he found bruises around the victim's sternum and back area, all pre-mortem, before the fall."

Heiji could only smile in wonder that this case has taken a turnaround. He looks over to Takagi. "Anything more on the hotel canvass and security footage?"

"We did a second check among the staff. They said nothing that would help us. They were on the graveyard shift, so the number of witnesses was little. However," he says, as he shuffles to a confortable position in his seat, "there was no security footage."

"What?"

"That's just it. The recordings were wiped off, gone. And we checked the cameras; they haven't bee tampered with, which means . . ."

"We're looking at an inside job. Have you talked to the guy in charge of security."

Chiba jumps in. He shakes his head. "He wasn't there during the canvass."

Heiji looks at him, worried that the case might have gotten harder. "He must have skipped. Tell your guys to be on the lookout for him." Chiba takes the order and left the room. Heiji rubs his eyes and talks to the Metropolitan inspector. "Now we need to deal with motive. Why was he the target?

"An American cop gets murdered here in Tokyo, apparently on business. But what business does he have here in Japan? It's out of his jurisdiction like a fish out of water. It doesn't look like a simple rage killing; the murder is too precise." As he rubs his chin, Heiji gives some thought over this murder, looking for questions that needed to be answered, the right questions leading to the right direction. "It's best if we could contact the LAPD, check if he had any enemies, maybe ask them to notify next of kin."

"That won't be necessary, detective." A large, burly man, with a freshly-shaven face and graying hair comes into the room, making his presence fully known by his commanding, deep voice. He holds a thick case binder in one of his worn, veiny hands. He continues, "When I heard about this case, I can't help but to come in. I thought you might needed some answers."

"Superintendent Shirogane, you know our victim," Inspector Takagi answers.

"I do. He came to us for help." Shirogane straightens his tie and looks at Heiji. "Matter of fact, I believe that our Californian cop stumbled onto something that has some . . ties back to you, Hattori-san."

"What? Me? Why?" Considering all the possible angles that he made for this case, this one comes at him like a curveball.

He throws down the file he's carrying. It was the task force file on the Black Organization. "Detective Marlowe was one of the lead detectives in the LAPD's Gang and Narcotics Division. You might have heard of the rising gang violence over the gun and drug trade that's been plaguing the city for quite awhile. Numerous homicides on alleged traffickers, armed robberies, even the one reported today in the news - the Highland Park case. Marlowe was tracking down the criminal syndicate."

At the first sound of the word, foreboding opens up from a locked room within Heiji's and Takagi's mind.

"So, how does it connect to us, sir," Hejij asks.

Shirogane throws down the case file on the desk. It is the task force file on the Black Organization.

"Marlowe came across some names during his homicide investigations. Some of his peers believe them to be nonsense, but calling people by alcohol names seems a bit fishy." The superintendent opens up the file to the section containing the numerous members of the former syndicate. He taps on Gin's profile. "His name came up among them."

Heiji tries to process the new information into his mind. "So," he says after a short pause, "why was Marlowe here in Tokyo?"

"He wanted more information on the Syndicate, to see if there are any loose ends that might give him something for his current job. He already got the FBI's file, and now he wanted ours."

Heiji's mind clicks into something from the crime scene. "Sir, did you give Marlowe a copy of the file? And also the one from the FBI?"

"Yes for the first question. As for the FBI, I don't know." Shirogane draws a concerned look at him. "Does this mean?"

Heiji sketches all the parts of the scene and pulls out one crucial item that's now relevant - the suitcase.

"It's gone, sir. It wasn't on him, and among his belongings."

The air becomes stale from displeasure. Mood is like that. Everyone has that intuitive touch. The social sense. And the sense is that they've probably been sent back close to square one.

"So, now what," Inspector Takagi asks. "We've got nothing in our hands, at the moment."

"Maybe," Heiji states. "There might be something that might help. It's a long shot, though."

"Which is," Takagi questions the young detective.

"I could ask Shiho. She's the only available source on the Organization. If she turns up something that may link to what's going on in America, then she's our best shot."

"I like the sound of that, Hattori-san," the superintendent remarks.

Shirogane straightens his tie and opens up the door to leave, but not before Hattori gives him one last question. "Just another thing, sir, but you mentioned that Marlowe was running a private investigation. Why not just make it official. An international task force now?"

The superintendent looks back over his shoulder. "Marlowe suspects that someone was crooked in the police department. So, he wanted to be a little discrete to avoid suspicion." He shakes his head and continues, "Looks like it didn't work out."

"So that's the summary, Shiho. I'm heading for Los Angeles for the investigation. Care to help out?" Shiho stands outside, rubbing her neck to keep it warm from the nightly breeze. The fact that Gin may be residing in Los Angeles gives her a nostalgic shiver, reminding her of his little obsession over her while they were in the criminal agency. It's as if an ice-cold blade is running down her spine. And there's another reason - concern, affection, another change to reach out.

 _Let me help you._

"Yeah. I'll have to tell the others, but yes. I'm in."


	6. Start of Watch

Among the Streets

Shiho and Heiji stand outside the airport terminal at Haneda, having spent the day on preparing for the trip to L.A. They packed enough necessities, along with any files on the Black Organization. The sun hovers near the line of the now-orange horizon, while taxi come by the curb to pick up or drop off folks with enough spare time to travel, business or otherwise.

"Is it too much to ask to come with you, Shiho-chan?" Ayumi looks at her, gleaming with anticipation, even though this case is way above their pay-grade, if they were even paid to begin with.

"I'm sorry, Ayumi-chan. Besides, you got your whole lives ahead of you, all of you." She gazes at the Detective League, here to say their goodbyes before the duo's flight. Hakase stands behind them, still feeling fatherly towards them despite their age.

"Said the person who was a part of this gang that usually finds dead bodies," Genta interjects. "Afraid that we'll steal the show?"

"Hey, Conan does that stuff for you, ya brat."

 _Great, now I feel like Korogo_ , Shiho thinks up.

"Oi oi, she doesn't mean that." Heiji comes to them, carrying suitcases. "But, she really does," he continues before giving a wink at them.

"Yeah well, when you get back there, tell Shinichi-kun we said hi and we hope that he'll come back home," Mitsuhiko talks to her filled with hope.

"I will," she says back to him in the same tone he has.

Hakase walks up to her. "Will you two be alright?" He shifts his eyes back and forth from Heiji to Shiho. "Since it's Gin you guys might be dealing with-"

"We'll be fine, Hakase." Out of love for him, she hugs him tightly and kisses him on the cheek.

While this goes on, Heiji gets a call on his cell phone. It's Kazuha.

"Care to see me off, sweetie?"

"Don't get cheeky with me, Heiji." She pauses on the other line. "Just make sure you stay safe."

"Oi, don't worry about it. If it makes you feel better, I'll be home for dinner."

"Good," she declares. "And make sure you don't cheat on me, Hattori."

"Hey, American girls aren't my type, by the way," he stammers jokily. They laugh and end their conversation with kisses across the line.

A few minutes pass by, as the detective duo decide to finish up goodbyes in order to make it for their departure. After taking the rest of their luggage out of the car, Hakase and the rest of the posse get inside, and start to drive off the curb. Shiho stares as they drive off among the busy streets.

The wait is long and tedious, aside from getting some burgers from a fast-food joint inside the terminal. Heiji decides to kill some time by reading Ellery Queen while Shiho daydreams, looking out the large, tall windows opening up to the view of the runway. The skies above the horizon now turns into black twilight, nothing but the stars, the glow from the city skyline, and the tail lights from passing jets taking off or landing.

In terms of daydreams, they're more like reminiscing. She remembers how Shinichi wasn't the same after he got out of hospital. When he got out, the first thing that came to him was a hard punch in the face by Kogoro. He was broken; losing a daughter can bring a man to tears and anger, regardless if justified or not. After the punch, Kogoro just broke down. That was normal, but for Shinichi, he didn't even said a word after his release. He remained catatonic for God knows how long. Even during the Boss's trial and the months of prosecution that eventually landed Harry behind bars in some godforsaken prison, Shinichi was just a blank slate. Shiho remembers the pity, the guilt, the overwhelming loss that perpetuated the air at that time.

It was something that no man or woman involved with that case would never forget. The pain of loss, shown by silence.

Heiji shakes Shiho from her daydreams. Their flight to Los Angeles is about to depart in the next couple of minutes. The duo took their belongings and headed towards the gate, and before long, towards a man stuck in the past.

* * *

Inside the Chinatown restaurant, Mark Hei was dining on fried rice and wonton soup, just like the other members of the syndicate. Nothing beats a Chinese breakfast. He kept to himself most of the time, only speaking a word when he's spoken to. Until then, it was chow time.

The room he was in was filled with business partners, so to speak. Drug dealers, pimps, and gun-runners talking black market economics over tea and sweet-and-sour pork. It was a business meeting after all.

Shinya Ikari stepped into the dining hall, and everyone went silent for respect of their leader. He took a seat at the end of the long white-cloth table and took up their attention.

"Thank you for coming here, and I hope you enjoyed the food. Make sure you remember to tip because I'm paying for this." His pleasant attitude brought chuckles to some. "Now let's talk about today's agenda.

"As you know, I've taken steps to avoid any investigations of the LAPD thanks to my agent, Sake, who's just returned from Japan." He gestured to a tall man with silver hair, much like Shinya's, wearing a business vest and glasses. Sake smiled at the sentiment.

"How much does the LAPD know so far, before the hit, sir," Mark asked his boss.

"A sliver of a lead, but no matter. Sake has taken and disposed any evidence and information to our doings from that detective. There's nothing to worry about." His jackal grin shone through.

"Anyway," he continued, "today, we have a new deal coming up from one of our suppliers south of the border. It will take place around Long Beach later, 10 at night today. Gin and Sake will handle the proceedings. The goods will be the usual: 100 kilos of cocaine and black tar heroin and a shipment of AR-15s and 5.56 rounds."

"And the payment, boss?" Sake shuffled in his seat, staring dead center at him. He was the kind of man that would do anything, no questions asked. Cold-blooded, people might consider him the Boss's son, if not apprentice.

"Mexs said around 100 million this time. They said it's good stuff, and the guns were hard to come by, according to them. Of course, I did allow a shadow of a doubt, so that's why I've handpicked you two," he said, pointing at Gin and Sake, "to handle this little deal."

Mark thought about the deal, and all the ways it could go wrong. It depended on the dealer; they could rip them off on the very start and have no second thoughts on massacring those on the other end of the double cross, or they could be honest people, trying to make a buck while having some integrity. The latter seemed unlikely because crime doesn't have any conscience for others, other than itself.

"Any backup," Gin asked.

"Give me the details later. I'll provide." Again, he smirked.

The rest of the meeting was filled with filler, nameless deals, updates on any nosy investigations, intelligence from law enforcement, new buyers and sellers, anything that didn't concern the two leading gunmen. Mark indulged himself with more soup, while Sake meditated, eyes closed and tuning out any white noise.

The meeting ended, and all the partners left the restaurant in droves. Of course, they had to make their exit as normal as possible; in order to entertain any fools trying to tail them in a stakeout. Only Gin, Sake, and Shinya were left in the room. They were down to brass tax on the subject at hand.

"You're thinking of a double cross, Gin?" Shinya helped himself to a cup of water.

"Deals always meant contingencies. That's what you taught us."

"Very well. Sake, any objections."

Sake shook his head. "No."

"I could spare you Hudson and Black? Or you want more?" The last question was more of a statement.

"What do we know about our seller?" Mark fumbled for a cigarette from his coat and lit it up. Blue smoke dispersed and danced with the dust in the air.

"Nothing much, to be honest. To be frank, they're new to the game."

"How new?"

"Not _new_ new, but they started up last year. From what I heard from my agents down in Mexico and Columbia, they're pretty decent. They deliver at the very least."

"Doesn't mean that they'll let their guard down. Have they heard of us, or the Syndicate?"

"First time. So consider this opening up new trade. We could use more supply." Shinya stood up from his seat and straighten his black suit. "I trust your judgment, Gin. You always get the job done." He patted his shoulder and left.

"You always get the job done," Sake sarcastically added. "Shall we get going?"

"Getting sick of the high hat, Sake," Gin responded.

"Not at all." Sake smirked at him. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

Du-Par's was located around Beverly Hills, but the food there is an Angelino's dream - the best pancakes around, one would say. Shinichi was helping himself to the buttermilk meal, along with a side of eggs and a cup of coffee. Sure, he was at risk of being late of making it to his office, and missing out on business, but work has dried up. Even so, all the work he gets were divorce cases, cases that don't even interest him. For one, he didn't like working easy - and boring - cases. Second, he doesn't like to dwell in private affairs for sentimental reasons of a broken heart.

He was about to finish up his coffee when he received a text message. It was his father.

"Shinichi, call me as soon as you get this. Urgent," the text stated.

Sure, he could have ignored it, but something told him to take the call. He dialed him up.

"Hello?"

"Otosan, what's up?"

"Oi, Shinichi! Glad you've called. Something came up."

"What is it?"

"If you didn't know, Shiho and Heiji are arriving in LA today. They asked me to ask you to pick them up at LAX around 9."

Shinichi considered the idea for the moment. It was already half past 7, but he thought about the risk of rush-hour traffic along the 405 freeway.

"What's the occasion?"

"New case for them, and I think you'll want it, for whatever it's worth to you."

Yusaku filled him on what he knew about the case so far - the murder in Japan and its connections to the LAPD crackdown on the Syndicate.

"So that's it? Sure, taking down an organization is one thing, but what makes you think I'll take it. Hell, I'll let Heiji solve this shit on his own."

The detective heard a sigh on the other end of the phone. "Like I said, for whatever it's worth." He paused before coming back on. Shinichi could tell by that sign of body language that something's personal will come up. "Heiji and Shiho believe that Gin may be involved with this organization."

Something stirred inside Shinichi. He felt his heart pounding against his chest, his hand gripping on the phone, some storm surging up in his mind.

"G-Gin," he managed to choke out.

"Yes, son. He's back."

Time slowed to a crawl. Memories filled up in Shinichi's head. He reminded himself of the pain, the chaos from the past years.

And the suffering in his heart grew bigger, but it came with a burning feeling. It was a passion. It was revenge. It was the darkness in his heart.

"Shinichi? Oi, Shinichi," Yusaku called from the other end of the line.

"What," he muttered.

"You ok?"

"I-I'll pick them up. You know which flight they're on?"

Yusaku informed him of the arrival time and place. Shinichi thanked him.

"Shinichi," his father said. "You sure you want to take this case. I know these past couple of years haven't been-"

"I know," Shinichi replied. He didn't notice the rancor and strain in his tone. He was too caught up. Here he was, days away from his birthday, and then God drops this present on his lap. Some luck he has.

"You sure?" His voice sounded confident, but a bit shaky and doubtful.

"Yes. Bye, otosan." He hanged up the phone, finished up his cold cup of coffee, paid the bill, and left for the freeway.


	7. (Author's Update: The Return)

Hey folks. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to update this story for about a year. Here's the lowdown:

When I first started this account, writing was just a little hobby that I haven't had much indulgence for. I'm afraid of what people would say, and that put the pressure on me to create coherent plots. All in all, I wasn't as motivated to keep the story going. I also had school pressing down on me (gotta keep those FBI dreams going), so that contributed to the lack of content.

Now, I feel like I need to make the effort to finish this story. I've kept myself and also to you readers in the dark, and I hope that you haven't forgetten this hardboiled take on Detective Conan. Right now, I want to say "fuck all" to my writing fears, and get the ball rolling to get this thing done.

Be advised, I'm also thinking about getting a Persona 5 AU detective story on my account, so if you want, keep a look out for that.

The crime writer Michael Connelly advised writers to be relentless. I can see that now.

Kudo Shinichi and Shiho Miyano will make a return, and they will fight the darkness of their past, once and for all.

\- ThatDetectiveGuy


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